The Last Innocent Man (14 page)

“Mr. Grimes,” Monica asked, “how well lit is the parking lot at the Raleigh?”

Grimes tilted his head back and furrowed his brow. “Not too good over by the side near Tacoma Street, but
there’s plenty of light from that McDonald’s. Bothers some of the customers sometimes.”

Monica felt her stomach tighten. Damn, she’d just made it worse. She hated surprises in trial, and this was a bad one. She decided to back off on the lighting.

“Was the murderer’s car moving fast when it left the lot?”

“I’ll say. It just come whippin’ around that corner. He screeched his tires when he did that, and that’s why I looked over.”

“So you just had a brief view of him?”

“Right. Like I said, I wasn’t concentratin’ on him much. I was lookin’ up at the room.”

“Do you remember being interviewed by Ronald Crosby, a Portland police detective, on the evening of the murder?”

“Was that the fella that bought me coffee?”

“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Grimes.”

“Nice fella. He even sprung for a doughnut. Not as tight as some a them cops I know.”

Someone laughed in the back of the courtroom, and the judge rapped his gavel. Monica waited for the jury’s attention to return to the witness stand.

“You never told Detective Crosby that the man had long brown hair, did you?”

“He never asked.”

“But he did ask you if there was anything about the man you could remember, did he not?”

“I don’t recollect the whole conversation.”

“Do you remember saying that the man did not make much of an impression on you and Detective Crosby asking
you if you remembered his hair, eyes, or anything else about him and your answering ‘No’?”

“That sounds right. Only I was talkin’ about when the girl come in. He never asked about when the fella drove off.”

Monica looked as if she were going to ask another question, then thought better of it.

“Nothing further,” she said.

Judge Rosenthal looked at David, who merely smiled and shook his head.

“Nice going,” Larry whispered.

“That’s what you pay me for. If I do as well with the next witness, we’ll be in good shape.”

“Who’s the next witness?” Stafford asked David.

“The State calls Bertram Ortiz,” Monica said.

D
IRECT EXAMINATION WAS
easy for Ortiz. The questions were almost identical to the direct examination during the bail hearing, and he had gone over his answers with Monica several times. First he described the stakeout and the beige Mercedes. Then he recounted his surveillance during the drive to the motel. He told the hushed courtroom of his violent encounter with the man who had murdered Darlene Hersch, his reaction when he saw Larry Stafford in the courthouse corridor, and the results of the search at Stafford’s house. Then, as the jurors leaned forward, caught up in the tension of the moment, Ortiz turned toward the defense table and pointed his finger at the defendant. Direct examination was over, and Monica nodded to David.

Ortiz turned toward the defense table and waited for cross-examination to begin. His hand had been steady, and
there had been no tremor in his voice when he identified Larry Stafford, because he had learned from dozens of experiences on the witness stand to control his nerves, but the fear of what David might do to him was there.

David did not rush his questions. He smiled at Ortiz and leaned back in his chair. He wanted Ortiz to wait, and he wanted to build on the tension that already permeated the courtroom.

“Officer Ortiz,” he asked finally, “what day was Darlene Hersch killed?”

“June sixteenth,” Ortiz answered tersely. He was determined to answer only what he was asked and to volunteer nothing. The less he said, the less information Nash would have to work with.

“Thank you,” David said politely. “And when did you see Mr. Stafford in the courthouse hallway?”

“Early September.”

“Some three months after the murder?”

“Yes.”

David stood up and walked to an easel that the clerk had placed between the witness stand and the jury box. David flipped the cover page from a large drawing pad over the top of the easel and revealed the diagram of the motel room that Ortiz had drawn at the bail hearing.

“During a prior hearing in this case, I asked you to draw this sketch and to indicate your position and the killer’s position at the moment you saw his face, did I not?”

“Yes.”

“And is this an accurate representation of those positions?”

Ortiz studied the drawing for a moment, then nodded.

“I believe at the hearing you stated that, at the mo
ment you saw the killer’s face, his left arm and leg were inside the room a bit and his body was at a slight angle, with the right arm and leg outside the door?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, you were struck immediately upon entering the motel room, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“The lights in the room were out?”

“Yes.”

“You fell, twisted, and your head struck the bed?”

“Yes.”

“How long would you say you had a good view of the killer’s face?”

“A few seconds.”

“Five to ten?”

“A little more than that.”

David picked up the transcript of the bail hearing, consulted an index card, and flipped to a page.

“At a prior hearing in this case, did you not testify as follows:

“’Q: So you saw him for a few seconds?

“’A: Yes.

“’Q: Less than a minute?

“‘A: Maybe five, ten seconds. But I saw him.’”

“I think that’s right.”

“So the only time you saw the killer’s face was for five or ten seconds after you had been struck on the head and before you lost consciousness?”

“Yes, but I saw him clearly. It was Stafford,” Ortiz blurted out. Monica expected David to object to the unresponsive answer, but David merely smiled.

“You are certain of that?” David asked. Monica was
puzzled. Why was David giving Ortiz a chance to repeat so damaging a statement?

“Positive.”

“Yes. I believe, at the prior hearing, I asked you, ‘You are certain?’ and you replied, ‘I will never forget that face.’”

“Yes, I said that,” Ortiz answered nervously. He had forgotten that he had given that answer at the bail hearing.

“But the impossible happened, did it not?”

“What do you mean?”

David strolled over to the far end of the counsel table and picked up a stack of papers.

“Were you hospitalized after the blow to your head?”

“Yes.”

“Was Dr. Arthur Stewart your treating physician?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you in the hospital, Officer Ortiz?”

“About a week.”

“How long did you continue to see Dr. Stewart for problems relating to the blow to your head?”

Ortiz could feel the sweat forming on his brow. Why didn’t the bastard ask the question Ortiz knew he would ask?

“I stopped two weeks ago.”

“Mid-October? Is that when he released you?”

“Yes.”

“You had a concussion, did you not?”

“Yes.”

David paused and the smile disappeared. “And you could remember nothing about what happened inside that motel room from June sixteenth until September? Isn’t that true?”

“I remembered parts of what happened. It was—”

“Mr. Ortiz…Pardon me. Officer Ortiz,” David said, his voice cutting like a knife, “I have here copies of your medical records from Good Samaritan Hospital. On September third, did you visit Dr. Stewart?”

“Uh, I…It could have been that date. I had an appointment in early September.”

“You don’t remember?” David asked with a smirk.

Ortiz felt his body tighten. He wanted to strike out at David. He felt like a butterfly pinioned on a board, waiting for dissection.

“Objection,” Monica said, standing. “Mr. Nash is arguing with the witness.”

She could see the danger signs and had to give Ortiz a chance to collect his thoughts.

“Yes, Mr. Nash,” the judge said, “just ask your questions.”

“Very well, Your Honor. Officer Ortiz, did you not tell Dr. Stewart during your September visit, a few short days before you arrested Larry Stafford, that you could not remember what happened inside the motel room and that you could not remember what the killer looked like?”

Ortiz did not answer immediately. He stared at David and at Stafford. Stafford stared back.

“Well, Officer?” David asked sharply.

“Yes.”

“You had amnesia, did you not?”

“Yes, if that’s what you call it.”

“What do you call it?”

“I mean…”

Ortiz stopped. David waited a moment, watching the jury.

“Officer, if I understand your testimony, you first saw the Mercedes from a distance of one city block?”

“Yes,” Ortiz answered quickly, grateful that the subject had been changed.

“Then you followed it from a distance of approximately two city blocks?”

“Yes.”

“And, finally, you saw it briefly as you drove by the motel lot?”

“Yes.”

“Those were the only times you saw the car that evening?”

“Yes.”

“And you did not know what model and year the car was until you checked with the Motor Vehicle Division?”

“I…It’s the car I saw,” Ortiz answered weakly.

David picked up three color photographs from his table and walked over to the witness stand. Monica drummed the tip of her pen on her desk. Ortiz was in trouble, and she did not know how much longer he would be able to stand up under David’s questioning. She had Dr. Stewart on call to testify that Ortiz, and others with amnesia caused by a concussion, could recall with complete accuracy events they had forgotten. But for the jury to believe in Ortiz’s recall, they had to believe in Ortiz.

“Will you study these three photographs, please?” David asked Ortiz. The policeman shuffled the photos until he had viewed all three.

“Would you tell the jury what they are?”

“They appear to be a beige Mercedes-Benz.”

“Same type that Mr. Stafford drives?”

“Yes.”

David smiled at Ortiz and took back the pictures.

“I have no further questions.”

Monica could not believe it. She had seen David tear witnesses apart and she knew his technique. He always softened them up, as he had Ortiz, with questions that would shake their confidence. Then he progressed from point to point, ending with a series of questions that involved a major point in their testimony. The questions about Ortiz’s amnesia had been expected, but she also expected more. Ortiz had been touched by David, but not badly shaken. She wanted him off the stand quickly, while he was still basically intact.

“No further questions,” Monica said.

“Call your next witness.”

“Dr. Arthur Stewart, Your Honor.”

O
RTIZ WANTED TO
discuss the case as soon as she left the courtroom, but she told him to wait until they got to her office. Dr. Stewart had been excellent and David had not scored many points. She had rested the State’s case at the end of his testimony without calling Cyrus Johnson.

“But why?” Ortiz demanded when he and Monica and Crosby were alone.

“Because it wasn’t necessary and I did not want to risk it.”

“You haven’t shown any motive. Johnson can establish that this guy is an S-M freak.”

“Or make it look like we’re trying to railroad him with perjured testimony. Look, Bert, we already have a motive. He is a member of a big law firm, but not a partner. He is married to a wealthy woman. If he is arrested for prostitu
tion, his career and marriage could be over. What more do we need? Besides, you were terrific.”

Ortiz shook his head. “I don’t know. That business with the amnesia. Don’t you think…?”

“I was in the courtroom, Bert,” Crosby said. “You came off just great, and that doctor cleared that whole business up. I was surprised how easy Nash went on you.”

“Yeah. That has me worried, too. Why do you think he let up?”

“I don’t know,” Monica said, “but let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“If it was a gift,” Ortiz said. “That son of a bitch has something he’s not telling you about. I can feel it.”

Monica shrugged. “I’m not going to worry about it now.”

“And you can still use T.V. in rebuttal, right?” Ortiz asked.

“Bert, I don’t trust him. He’ll do anything to get out of this dope charge.”

“I don’t think so,” Ortiz said, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Well, if the case goes as well as it has so far, it will all be academic.”

“M
R
. S
TAFFORD CALLS
Patrick Walsh, Your Honor,” David said, and the clerk left the courtroom to summon the witness. David took the opportunity to collect the exhibits he would use and to review his notes on Walsh’s testimony.

The defense was going well. David had started by calling several of Larry’s friends and business associates, who testified to his good character. They had painted a picture of a newly wed, young professional who possessed a sense of
humor and a dedication to his work. Monica, through cross-examination, brought out the fact that Larry had been passed over for partner by his firm, but Charlie Holt, the witness, had handled that line of questioning well. David thought this revelation had provoked sympathy from the jurors.

David used Barry Dietrich, the partner with whom Larry had met on the evening of the murder, to bridge the gap between the character witnesses and those witnesses who would establish Stafford’s defense. Dietrich was not enthusiastic about testifying. With the exception of Charlie Holt, the partners at Price, Winward had been reluctant to get involved in the case. However, once on the stand, Dietrich had done well.

The courtroom door opened, and a tall, angular redheaded man with a slight limp walked to the stand. David looked back toward him and noticed Jenny seated on the aisle at the rear of the courtroom. They had been together often during the last month, treating each moment alone as if it might be their last. David loved Jenny. He knew that now. Often, when they were lying together, David wondered what would happen to them when the trial ended. If Larry was free, would Jenny go back to him? David was weak and vulnerable at such moments. He would hold Jenny, afraid of what might happen if he let her go.